In Love
by Quend
Summary: "I don't think any other, man or woman, would be willing to accept the challenge that was loving me, Sherlock Holmes."  Established Johnlock.  Rated for caution.


"In Love"

Author's Note: Established Johnlock. Shameless fluff. I'm not sure how horrible this will be, but it's the result of waking at 4 AM Christmas morning and being unable to go back to sleep because you actually _went to bed the previous night._ Don't judge me, please. Especially based on the cheesy title that I am quite aware is very cheesy. Thanks so much. This is the prequel to "Nightmares" which will be posted as soon as I finish; hopefully very soon! I would have rewritten this, to be honest, but there was too much sentimentality in the fact that I had written a Christmas one-shot on Christmas morning. Thanks to my ever-amazing friend and beta, **WingedWolfStar** for all her hard work on this (and for making it approximately ten times better)! This is dedicated to **akisura12** for her support of my likely-to-never-be-published one-shot (from her contest – go read her stories please!). Without that support, I may have never gotten up the courage to even log onto an account that my friend made for me, let alone to publish a story! For you, Gabby!

~*SH*~

I stared at the cozily lit tree, the few presents underneath seeming sparse at first glance. They weren't really; after all, this was a Christmas for two.

I twisted the wide band on my left hand, pleased as always that it was there. Glancing back at the bedroom door, I tried to convince myself that I should go back to bed, back to John.

Sighing dramatically, I gave up and walked over to the couch. I collapsed onto the furniture and spent a few minutes there, just thinking.

However, without a case to think about and nothing to consider save self-reflection, I soon became bored and moved to the window, staring out at Baker Street. The city was never truly silent. People were always moving about the streets, even at three-thirty on Christmas morning.

I was so distracted by my overwhelming boredom that I didn't notice John until his arms wrapped around me from behind and his forehead pressed into my back.

"Good morning," he murmured, eyes closed.

"Go back to sleep, John," I instructed, "You know you want to."

"Yes," agreed John amiably, "But I want you to come with me."

I half-turned as John moved away, catching him by his right shoulder and pulling him to me. We stood, ever comfortable in the other's presence.

"You know," I whispered, "This is our first Christmas as a married couple."

"Indeed," replied John, tilting his face upwards in an unspoken invitation. I leaned down and kissed him, a comfortable and chaste brush of affectionate lips.

"Then shouldn't it feel…different?" I asked, genuinely worried – though I made sure none of that worry was noticeable in my demeanor.

John chuckled, a low sound that I adored. "Sherlock, there **is** a reason that we've always been told to stop bickering like a married couple." He stopped, his eyes searching my face. He must have seen something there, something he didn't like, because he kissed me again, sweetly, lovingly. "No, Sherlock," he answered gently, "It doesn't need to be different."

I buried my face in the crook of his neck, enjoying the smell of tea and something that I couldn't identify, something warm that was uniquely John.

"Now," he continued, "If that's all you've been fretting about please just come back to bed. We'll have to be up in a few hours."

I hadn't done anything to show my nerves; I had schooled my face and body to display complete apathy. Yet despite my acting skills, John had been able to easily read my worry. It was truly beautiful, truly spectacular.

"Alright, John." I didn't know what I had done to deserve such an amazing, perfect man. He always knew what I felt like, what I was attempting to hide, even when I was trying my best to keep my true feelings concealed. I knew that was what being in love was truly about; knowing everything – the good and the bad – about the other person and loving them despite their faults. I was glad it was John who was in love with me, because I certainly had a lot of faults for him to look past. I don't think any other, man or woman, would be willing to accept the challenge that was loving me, Sherlock Holmes.

John laughed again, understanding the meaning behind the words I had said.

"I love you too, Sherlock."


End file.
